


Hard to Breathe

by Narcissisticpeacock



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Bleeding Out, F/F, Hints of Widowtracer, one of those fics where it's not clear if the character died
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 16:36:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7369378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narcissisticpeacock/pseuds/Narcissisticpeacock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tracer could taste blood. She was bleeding from multiple woulds, though, so why not from her mouth too?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard to Breathe

Tracer could taste blood. She was bleeding from multiple woulds, though, so why not from her mouth too? Her muscles had once ached, but now they were going numb. Probably not a good sign, she concluded. Her back was against the wall both literally and figuratively. How long had it been since she'd seen the others? The others that had been with her, that is. She'd seen generic "others" other than herself quite recently. She was staring straight at someone. Or trying to. Her goggles had cracked, making it hard to see.

With one bloodied palm, she pushed them up and off her eyes, giving her a clearer view of Widowmaker standing a few feet in front of her. She was far less hurt than Tracer; bleeding from far less wounds too.

Tracer fought to take a long breathe. When had that happened? Had she punctured a lung? Or was it just from blood loss?

"You.... Ya' got m..." Another strenuous breathe. "Me, luv." Her vision went out of focus for a second and she squeezed her eyes shut before looking back up. There had to be a decent puddle of blood under her now, but she tried not to think about it.

Widowmaker took a step closer, but didn't say anything. Her expression was an enigma; her grip remained tight on her rifle.

There were moments void of any sound but Tracer's labored breathing. She pressed a hand to the wound on her stomach. Blood oozed up between her fingers, but it didn't really matter anymore. "Listen... Amélie--"

This brought a reaction out of Widowmaker. "She is gone," she asserted. Always the same.

Tracer gave Widowmaker half a pained, sour grin. "Look, it... doesn't really matter, does it?" She gulped, trying to get her body to obey her. "That face will--" She coughed, the taste of blood being renewed with it. "--will always belong to... to Amélie to me."

Widowmaker took a step closer. "This--"

"Shut it, will ya?" Tracer cut in. She gasped for breathe, her outburst having stolen it. "Amélie... deserved b... better than all this." Her sour grin returned to her face. "And I _tried_." There was a faint but audible gurgle when she breathed now. "But see... where that got... me?" She coughed again, harder this time, as she tried to clear the way for air. She had tears in her eyes, but she couldn't tell if it was from pain or sorrow.

Widowmaker's expression dropped it's mystery for all of a moment, allowing pure fear and sorrow to show. Tracer decided she had hallucinated it.

With the last of her strength, she hooked her fingers on the barrel of Widowmaker's rifle. She brought it as steady as she could to her own head. "I'm not... not happy 'bout failin' Amélie like I have, got it?" Another shakey breathe. "And I'm almost there already, luv. I'd thank y... ya' if you could just help me along?"

Tracer locked eyes with Widowmaker. The sniper's expression was shocked, at the very least. "Listen... I doubt Mercy is close 'nough nearby to help. Not that... not that you care 'bout that." She grinned. "Amélie might but... You're not Amélie, are ya, luv?"

Widowmaker stared. Why wasn't her body obeying her? She should have been able to pull the trigger. Should have ended it ages ago! But here she was, standing in some alley while Tracer was bleeding out. Watching as Tracer held the rifle's barrel towards her own head. Asking to be put out of her misery.

Tracer sighed. "It's bloody c... cold out. Weird temperature for place... like this, huh?" She new perfectly well she was the only one feeling cold. The forecast had bragged temperatures in the eighties all week.

Tracer closed her eyes. "Can barely... hold my arm up... If you can... do this soon... luv?"

She was frozen. Widowmaker was frozen. Why were there vague memories tugging at her? What was this... _feeling_ that had burrowed into her chest, making it hard to breathe? She was terrified, but she didn't know why. Shouldn't she feel happy that Tracer was dying? Hadn't that been the goal? It might only be minutes if she didn't pull the trigger...

Tracer was about to attempt speech when she felt the barrel of the gun ripped from her fingers. The gun clattered on the ground, skittering a few feet away. Her arm fell, had resting on the ground beside her. She looked up at Widowmaker, who had take half a dozen steps back. She looked afraid.

Tracer closed her eyes again, wondering if it'd be for the last time. She felt so cold. She heard soft footsteps. Felt a hand on the side of her face. Rummaging in her jacket pockets. Heard the soft, but panicked " _beep, beep, beep_ " of her emergency signal, meant to tell her team, in particular Mercy, where she was. More footsteps, this time echoing away from her. Still the signal beeped. Even so, she doubted Mercy would reach her in time.

She managed a pained smile at a comforting thought. Amélie was still there.

She slipped into darkness.


End file.
